Have I mentioned my friend who came over and cleaned my house, and I mean really, really cleaned, the day my in-laws arrived? I don't think I have. I have to say, it was stunning. I am sure I could have rallied and faux-cleaned up for them somewhat adequately, but this was just so cleansing (literally) and completely generous. This happened before Thanksgiving and I am still not really over it. This friend showed up in completely no-nonsense fashion, told me not to wear myself out, unpacked her bucket of supplies and went at my mildly disgusting house, which is also mildly large. One really amazing thing is just how much of an energy drain it would have been for me to do, and do that well. Scary, but true.
Chemo takes its toll. Even with the nausea preventive drugs and the mitigation of some of the worst side effects, it takes its toll. Between the exhaustion and the overthinking, it is definitely taking its toll. I am attempting to prepare myself for a morning of timing a swim meet tomorrow, and from my vantage point in chemo-land, it seems like a really big deal. I have always had the nice perk of people being surprised that I am as old as I am, which is 49. Now, I feel old, I feel like I look old, and normal things like grocery shopping seem daunting and hard, as if I were very old. I may be forgetting what I am normally like. This is probably a surreal side effect of chemo, not much discussed in the literature. I wonder sometimes, if my brain will ever feel at all quick and curious again, if I will feel fit and strong running, even sometimes if my hair will really grow back, even though they say it will. Some states begin to feel permanent, and after a mere 12 weeks of this, it does. I can't decide whether time is going by quickly or terribly slowly. Jon pointed out that in early September when he bought our Springsteen tickets it seemed so, so long to wait for a treat. And now it is passed. Was it quick or slow? From my vantage point, living in my three week increments, I honestly can't say.
Sorry for the postings that always seem to skew towards the miserable. I start to write and let it go wherever. I will try to end on a positive note: the trajectory of my evening includes pulled pork over toast, and a trashy Will Ferrell movie with my man and my boy. In any circumstance, that really does not sound too bad.